


More than is just

by erana



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt's not sure if he's for real, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jaskier is a little shit, Jaskier is a tease, M/M, Mild Language, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, adding this tag because well he is, or rather, stealing clothes, well bit of, whyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erana/pseuds/erana
Summary: Reaching town has many advantages - like nice food you didn't have to hunt down, bath, that didn't make you shiver in cold, having your own room and most importantly your very own bed.  All just to yourself. Or does it?Alternatively:Geralt sleeps bare and Jaskier's mad he wasn't allowed the same.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? _I don't even go here._  
> 
> 
> Or do I now?
> 
>   
> (My first The Witcher fic and very first fic on ao3. Be gentle please.)

It wasn’t the nicest inn, but the sheets were clean, so. Geralt was content. In fact, he was as content as he wasn’t in months. Actually, if he dared to say, he felt rather _good_. Which was telling something, because he was a witcher and witchers weren’t supposed to feel good. 

But how could he not; after having dinner he didn’t have to kill and skin himself; after the only moist that was touching his skin, was the one coming from hot bath; after he finally _finally_ managed to get that burned smell out of his hair. Jaskier was right, wasn’t he? It were finer things in life, such as soap that didn’t burn your skin or room that didn’t smell of ever present sweat.

He shrugged off his towel and went straight for the bed. Because he had his own bed and he had his own room. It was mutual decision, really, after being together almost nonstop, he was sure Jaskier appreciated it too. 

He shook his head. Who was he kidding. He must have been fucking sick of him. Being the only other person in radius of ten kilometers at almost any given time, did that to people. Company was pretty sparse in the woods. They’ve traveled for far too long, encountered few monsters no one paid them for, but which paid with their lives. He got new scar, but Geralt really didn’t mind. Mainly because that scar saved Jaskier’s left hand. Some nights out there were too cold, some nights were too hot, a lot of them had annoying insects and all of them had _dirt_.

Also no roof.

From time to time he liked himself some roof, as much as anyone. Well, probably not _as much_ as Jaskier. When they reached the town, for a second he thought he saw tears in Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier blinked, then looked back at him with such an open honest expression, hope and joy mixed together, and something... something in Geralt’s chest clenched at that sight. It was nothing, he lied to himself, though not so easily as he did so many times before. 

The rest went smoothly form there. Inn, dinner, bath. And now after uneventful evening he was ready for blessedly uneventful night. He fell to the bed as he was, no clothes, no care in the world. He smiled actually, pushing the blanket over him, soft feeling on his skin. He moved his leg and curled his toes, relishing the motion, the freedom of it. Because sleeping in a forest without as much as your boot was usually bad idea.

He must have been drifting off, because he didn't hear the footsteps. Or thumping of the blood the second before his door was blown open so hard, it smashed back into the wall. But, oh, he _knew_ very well who it was, didn't he. 

“Jaskier, what the-“

“Fuck?" came the answer. "I’ll tell you what the fuck, or rather that was _exactly_ what I said when I got back to my room.” He slammed the door shut and turned inside. Lowering his head, he pinched his nose. “ _The smell_ , Geralt, that _awful smell_ that would turn your stomach. Worse than those of your monsters. ”

Geralt blinked at him. Great. So now they were his monsters. It wasn’t his monster last time he checked, when Jaskier stumbled onto the bushes and accidently kicked one into it’s shins, making it twice as mad; and also it wasn’t his monster when Jaskier went for a swim in a lake and came back running for dear life.

“Well, maybe not _really_ ,” Jaskier shrugged his shoulder in that exaggerated way, he sometimes did, “but at least equally as bad.”

“Sorry but how’s that any of my-“

“Business? Concern? It should be both, Geralt because your bestest friend in the whole world was just _dishonoured_.” 

Geralt rose on bed, worry in his brows. "What on earth-"

“The skunk.”

Geralt blinked. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”

“No, but that- that vicious _thing_ ,” Geralt could tell he was pointing his finger, “was _definitely_ fucking with my room. I don't know how it got there or how it got out, but it was gone when I came, though its presence still _very_ noteworthy. ”

With a sigh, Geralt fell back on the bed. “I was planning on having a quiet night. _Alone_.”

“Y’know," Jaskier paused, his arms crossed, "I’m not thrilled either to spend another night listening to your snoring…”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do. Everyone is just too afraid to tell you.”

“Curious why you’re not.”

His only answer was the arrogant smirk. Geralt knew it was on his face, even when he wasn't looking. He closed his eyes. Breathed through his mouth, tasting the air on his tongue. Only now he noticed Jaskier's hair was bit wet, the familiar aroma deep in his lungs. He squeezed his eyes.

Great. Another night in his proximity, another night trying not to-

"Where's your bag?"

"Chair," Geralt said, sleep slowly creeping into his voice, "there, in the corner..."

There were actually two chairs in the room, table and chest. It wasn't the worst room he's ever-

Wait. He jolted awake, eyes wide open. 

“Why? What do you want my bag for?” No reply, just silent sound of Jaskier shuffling through what presumably was his stuff. “Jaskier?’ he pressed. He was silent for a while again before he replied softly: “Don’t worry. Just taking your shirt.”

He rose to his elbows and gritted his teeth. “ _Jaskier-_ “

“There’s no way I’m sleeping in what I‘m wearing right now.” He stopped what he was doing and turned his whole body to the bed. He couldn’t see him; Geralt knew that, he was just following in the direction of his voice. But Geralt could very much see his displeased glare, annoyed pout to his half closed lips, hands on his hips. “So it’s either that or going bare,” he fell silent for a moment just as to give Geralt time to process the horror of it and after that he squinted at him. “And seeing you don’t approve of _either_ …”

That wasn’t exactly true. Geralt _didn’t_ particularly mind, considering he, himself was very much bare right now. Huh. That was oddly something that only crossed his mind now and he pondered for a moment if he should actually put something on. No, he was too comfy to move and swiftly decided against it. He sunk deeper into the mattress, laying his head down on a pillow.

But once you let people have your shirt, next time they’ll walk away in your pants, boots, with your coins in pockets that were once yours and possibly even with your swords and/or your dignity. He sighed. “Take whatever you need, bard.”

Jaskier apparently didn’t need to be told twice, because just few seconds later, he hopped onto the bed next to him, dressed in his shirt. “Move, witcher,” he said all bossy and with fake disdain but Geralt could tell his heart wasn’t in it. And surprising even himself, he obeyed without as much as a grunt. If it startled Jaskier, he didn’t let know. He plopped down on his back, his hands behind his head. “Ah, what a fitting end to an awful evening, isn’t it?”

Geralt wanted to argue it wasn’t that awful, not until he showed up in his bedroom, but thought better of it. Maybe if he’ll ignore him, he’ll just shut up. But truth was he didn’t consider their stay here complete failure. The food wasn’t that bad and sure, one or two people booed Jaskier, when he was singing down there, but only because he spilled their drinks. He took too swift pirouette and kicked them over. It _could_ get more awful, sure, if Geralt didn’t glare at them from behind Jaskier, not that he knew of course. Even as drunk as those men were, except for their booing, they weren’t stupid enough to start something with bard and his witcher.

Jaskier shifted and Geralt felt him pulling his blanket. Not an easy feat when you have it wrapped around your leg. “What the hell you’re doing.” And when Jaskier kept tugging, he burst: “Go get your own, this one’s _mine_.” Jaskier stopped in his efforts, propped on one elbow, glaring directly at him. “Really, Geralt? Really? Do you _really_ ,” he continued, dragging the word, “want me to go to my room, the very one that was defiled by this vile creature and get blanket that was in the very same room?” He fell quiet to lend his words more impact. “Do you really not see how any of this could go wrong, o mighty witcher with your sensitive witchery senses?”

“Hm.” He had point, hadn’t he. It was late and the inn keeper was most likely long asleep. Before he came here, Jaskier took a bath, probably very angry one. However if Geralt focused very hard, he still could make out hint of unfamiliar scent under lots of soap, water and everything Jaskier-like. And Jaskier probably only as much as _walked_ through the room, long after the animal was gone. 

“Now… that we established, I’m doing you a favor, Geralt, move.”

Geralt reluctantly let go of the corner of his blanket. Jaskier quickly seized the opportunity. 

“Ah, better,” Jaskier sighed, once he settled down. He kept babbling about this or that, something Geralt only half heard, not really responding to him. That was the nice thing about Jaskier. He sufficed for himself, not needing anyone to indulge in his conversations, or rather - monologues. And that was actually also not so nice thing about him. He literally didn’t know when to shut up. 

Half an hour later Jaskier finally turned to his side, facing Geralt. “Geralt?” he said softly, more softly than before. “Hey Geralt, don’t sleep when I can’t sleep. Where are we going after this? I’ve been thinking, maybe we could-“

Geralt growled, putting the hand above his eyes. “ _Sleep, Jaskier_.”

There was silence for a moment. “Huh, so you’re not really asleep, are you,” Jaskier said in quiet, low voice, quite different than before. It moved something in Geralt’s stomach. “Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.” And then he went silent, even though Geralt suddenly wished he kept talking. He laid there wide awake, long after he heard Jaskier’s gentle snoring. 


	2. Chapter 2

The morning was full of surprises. For once, there was roof above Geralt’s head; something he went so long without, it almost startled him when he opened his eyes. He was in bed, which was another nice thing; he felt no restriction of clothes on him, which frankly was heaven like.

Also - there was very heavy, very prominent leg draped around him. He kept still for a while, trying to remember what exactly he did yesterday, what he drank that put him in bed with company. It definitely wasn’t his intention. When the scent, too familiar, all too encompassing hit his nose.

Jaskier snored bit louder and then his eyelashes were fluttering, suddenly awake. He yawned, taking in Geralt, taking in room, bed, his leg, everything. When his eyes went back to Geralt, Geralt held his breath despite himself.

“Well… I don’t remember drinking that much,” Jaskier murmured sleepily and Geralt snorted. 

"What," he sneered, too carefree for the fact that Jaskier crashed half his weight on him and he _hadn't_ _woken up_ , "am I not good enough for your ungrateful ass?" He pushed his leg off him and wondered briefly if this was what trust felt like. Silly, wasn't it. He was positive if something happened, Jaskier would avenge his death. He wouldn't want it from him, but he still would do it.

" _Sure, sure_ ," Jaskier nuzzled his pillow. "Just..." he yawned, "wouldn't expect it to be this easy, honestly..."

There was a moment between Geralt's slow heartbeats, where he almost wanted him to elaborate on that, where he almost wanted to ask. He didn't. Keeping his mouth shut saved him lot of trouble in the past.

“How long,” Jaskier said with another yawn, burying his nose in the pillow “how long we’ve slept?”

“Don’t know. The sun’s already high.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, fully intend on sleeping again but then his stomach growled. _“Fuck,”_ he muttered and Geralt understood, because he was starting to get hungry as well.

Jaskier rolled over on his back, looking at the ceiling for a moment and then sat up, taking the blanket with him, his hair standing in all directions. It wasn’t bad look at him, because, well, what was.

But his face was doing interesting things, Geralt noticed, as Jaskier _gaped_ at him, opening and closing his mouth few times. Geralt crooked his eyebrow at him, the silent _what_ almost formed at his lips, when he remembered.

Ah yes. The freedom with which he went to bed yesterday, With no clothes, just blanket wrapped around his body.

And that blanket was now gone.

“I- I _can’t_ believe-" he gasped, "yesterday you-" Jaskier pointed accusatory finger at him, shaking it in the air, "you _made me_ wear that stinky shirt of yours, while you lay here-“

“ _Your_ shirts stink. Mine is clean.”

“ _-while you lay here,_ ” Jaskier continued louder “ just… just like _that?!_ ”

“Oh, shove it," Geralt sat up, obviously naked, back turned towards Jaskier, feet dangling from the side of the bed. "You and I both know, you put on shirt only 'cause your shoulders are cold."

"First of all - how _dare_ you, second-"

"Besides," Geralt continued, "you’re not that decent yourself.”

“ _Ex-excuse me?_ ”

Geralt looked over his shoulder, considered for a moment. “I can see your ass.”

“Well, I can see your-“ Jaskier gestured wildly, “your _everything_.”

Geralt stood up and Jaskier leaned his head to the side, eyes skipping over him. There was moment of silence, as he gazed at him. Geralt tried to ignore the shift in the air, the way he felt his eyes tracing his body, suddenly all too aware of himself. He straightened a bit, improving his posture.

”Not that I’m complaining, not really,” Jaskier said, his voice somewhat different.

 _“Keep it,”_ Geralt growled, putting his pants on.

“Why,” Jaskier asked softly, his eyes not leaving Geralt’s back. “You’re not exactly ugly…” Geralt's fingers slipped on the buckle of his belt and from the side he looked at Jaskier. There were times when Geralt felt ugly, hideous even, with all the mutations and scars, but it was past him. He didn’t care, not anymore. Still, it felt weird, to hear it Jaskier say, especially considering how careful the bard was with his own image. Not unpleasant, though.

“You’re like…” Jaskier continued, licking his lips and Geralt followed that motion with his eyes, throat suddenly dry. His pulse slightly quickened, it was almost human-like, blood fluttering through his veins as if he were mere mortal, and that was it; he needed to put an end to… whatever this was. He shot Jaskier glare and Jaskier visibly gulped. Good.

“If you were gonna say sexy goose, I swear, I’ll leave you in this town,” he muttered and Jaskier chuckled, some tension leaving his body.

“No. No, not a goose," he straightened, "definitely _not_ a goose. More like,” he waved his hand, “panther crossed with bear…” Geralt snorted. “Very scary, yet strangely cuddly bear.”

Geralt decided not to honor it with an answer. He finally buckled his belt and turned to Jaskier. He still sat on the bed, ankles crossed, wistful look in his eyes, Geralt’s shirt still on him. Jaskier didn’t wear black that much and well, it was fucking shame, wasn't it. Sure, he was too pale in it, but it also made his eyes stand out more and -

And Geralt realized where his line of thought went again. He squeezed _his_ eyes shut.

“I’m gonna need the shirt back,” Geralt said simply.

“Why?” Jaskier asked, puzzled but there was also something else in his voice, something in the way his eyes skipped to his face, some kind of curiosity, bravery, that Geralt haven't really noticed before. “I know for a fact it’s not your only one. Unless…” Jaskier batted his eyelashes at him and Geralt sometimes really couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, “…it’s your foul play to get me undressed.” Jaskier watched him through his lashes, the way he probably did with other people, when he was after something. It no doubt put him in a lot of trouble. He now understood why. Jaskier wetted his lips and continued in slightly deeper voice. _“Why, dear witcher, all you have to do is ask.”_

For a second Geralt stared at him, not sure what to make out of him, not entirely ready to unpack all the weird things his voice and unfaltering gaze were doing to his body. It was hard to tell if he was ever serious, if he would ever continue his advances, if Geralt as much as nodded. But that was Jaskier. He flirted with anything and everything and he made fun of far too many things that shouldn’t be laughed at.

Just this time Geralt decided to shoot him glare and half-lie. “I saw you butt naked plenty times. Not a sight to behold.”

“Ouch,” Jaskier put a hand against his own heart in fake pain and Geralt turned to hide his smile.

“It’s my only clean one,” Geralt said after a moment, weird peace-offering, and it was true. He was saving clean shirt for a special occasion. For when he’ll be sleeping under roof again, preferably with possibility of taking bath. Which he did yesterday. So. How much it suited Jaskier made no difference, did it?

He heard Jaskier move reluctantly on the bed and then something landed on his head. He caught the shirt Jaskier threw at him and inhaled deeply. “It _reeks_ of you.”

“Well,” Jaskier stood up from the bed and went looking for his stuff. “Too bad,” he said, not a hint of apology in his voice. Only then Geralt turned to see him walking through the room, naked as the day he was born, obviously trying to remember where he tossed his clothes last night, not caring one bit. He picked his own shirt up.

Geralt blinked. Early day's light was giving his arm _very_ nice definition, slight tension in the way he was holding his belongings, all toned muscles and such. It would be so much easier if Geralt could just _not_ stare, wouldn't it. 

Still looking at his clothes, Jaskier scrunched his nose. “If it’s all the same to you then, give it back to me, and,” he said with hope in his voice, still trying to barter, “I can interest you in mine.” For a lack of better idea, he threw also his shirt at Geralt. It didn’t stink, not to human, but to witcher it was something else. He still could make out the skunk’s scent on it. He looked from the clothes to Jaskier, still absentmindedly walking around the room, still completely bare. And then.

He stretched, the bastard.

Geralt did his best to keep the growl deep in his chest. He shook his head. Once. Twice, still seeing it in his mind, trying not to fucking lose it.

He inhaled deeply, which in retrospect wasn't such a good idea (he got bit of portion of skunk and what was worse - bigger of Jaskier), and tried to focus on the shirts in his hands, just to have something to do. He shook his head again, not really aware he was doing it.

Fucking bard. Not ounce of shame in his body.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of taking Jaskier’s just to fuck with him. But no. He knew he couldn’t do it. Skunk or not, Jaskier would never forgive him, if he tore it.  
“Here, you’re wearing the skunk not me,” he threw Jaskier’s shirt back at him and Jaskier surprisingly caught it. He already was dressed in his pants.

“Actually,” Jaskier said as he was putting his shirt on, his head caught in its collar. “I've been thinking. I might be interested in your, hm, let’s say _services_ , dear wicher.” Geralt squinted his eyes, not sure if it was another stupid innuendo or if he was being serious. It wasn't that hard to tell, when he was clearly grinning and showing his abs at the same time. He held his breath.

_One day…_

“You proved your prowess many times, o mighty one, and I think this task might be just for you.”

_One fucking day…_

“Y’know....”

_One fucking day, he swears…_

“...y’know, that creature has to pay.”

He breathed through his nose. “I’m not killing skunk, Jaskier.”

 _One day, he finds out_. He finds out just how far was Jaskier willing to go. He wanted to believe that. Jaskier grinned back at him and Geralt forcefully bit down on a scream.

He _had to_ believe that. Because for as much as he hated to admit it, the bard was fucking with his head much more than was just.


End file.
